


A Grave Man

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 7-16-09</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Grave Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 7-16-09

Nate's busy talking to Wynn, heading back from Godfather's makeshift command tent, when he sees him. He doesn't stumble and he doesn't lose track of his sentence, but he does cut the conversation short with an excuse to go talk to Pappy. Mike gives him that slow, Texas, shit-eating grin like Nate hasn't fooled him at all and keeps walking the opposite direction of Nate's new goal.

Brad.

Brad's standing next to one of the humvees in a grave, no shirt on, nothing on but his goddamned trousers, and the sun's glinting off the sheen of sweat covering his body like he's some sort of Adonis, some god descended from on high to grace Nate's jack sessions. Every muscle seems to stand out - abs, pecs, biceps - and that's just the front view. Nate wants to walk around him slowly and see every curve, every plane. He wants to trace them with his fingers, with his tongue, and he has to swallow back the saliva that crowds his mouth and his throat, making him hungry with want.

There's a sharply cut line right over the hip Brad has cocked, his irritation at something darkening his expression, which makes the rest of him seem brighter, more golden. "I'm not sure that's up to the grooming standard, Sergeant."

"The way I see it, sir, I smell like piss and shit and come and sweat and dirt and the putrid scent of my own rotting feet. I don't meet anyone's standard, grooming or otherwise."

"I don't know." Nate stops in front of him, wishing the rest of the company wasn't around. Wishing that he couldn't see fully clothed Marines in the periphery of his vision. Wishing that it was just him and Brad and privacy. "Considering the present company we're in, you might be less gross than a lot of the guys. Possibly top notch in comparison."

"Top of a pile of shit is better than bottom of it, sir?"

"More chance for fresh air." Nate lets his gaze run down Brad's chest and he can feel the jerk of his cock at the sight. Brad seems to watch Nate's eyes, knowing. Always fucking knowing. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't put it past me, sir." Brad stretches, raising his arms over his head and making his muscles shift, his skin glow. "I want you to touch me. I want your hands and your mouth on me. I want to feel your dick against my stomach, my thigh, my dick as you rut against me."

Nate growls low in his throat, hungry and hot, though he works to keep his expression bland. He's not sure when he and Brad started this game or, for that matter, which of them started it. All he knows is that whenever they're out of earshot, Brad's mouth gets dirtier and dirtier and dirtier until Nate knows that, at some point, the only way to shut Brad up is going to be to stick his dick in Brad's mouth. "Sounds like I'm going to be doing all the work."

"Oh, no, sir." Brad grabs his elbow and reaches over his shoulder with his hand then repeats the gesture with his other arm. "While you're doing that, I'm going to be sliding three fingers deep in your asshole, spreading that tight hole until you're ready for me to fuck it."

Nate's about to say something when someone calls his name. Brad's got a grin on his face, pure pleasure and promise. Nate narrows his eyes and turns on his heel, heading toward where Rudy is waving him over. "We're not finished."

"Fuck that, sir," Brad assures him. "We're not even started."


End file.
